Mine
by penelopeparish
Summary: There are few things a warm-blooded, Canadian-bred boy could want with all of his heart; to hoist the Stanley Cup and make history, but one Brampton boy also finds himself desiring the affections of a girl he's convinced belongs in his world. *Ty Seguin
1. Living The Dream

"Yeah, I'm fine." The boy reassured the voice on the other line, a smile forming on his lips. "No, no – I really am okay. Things are really tense on this end, but we still believe." He added, his voice developing a serious tone. "Okay, you sleep good. I love you too." He finished, his tone softening. "'Night mom." He put the hotel phone back on its receiver and inhaled deeply. A sigh escaped his lips and he collapsed onto the bed. His hand raked through his brown hair, his mind a million places. His eyelids fluttered open when he heard a body enter the room. He turned to his team mate, acknowledging his presence, and turned back letting his gaze fall on the ceiling above. He'd seen some ice time after a devastating injury to another team mate and felt a weight the size of Canada on his shoulders. He had to win it. He had to win it for Horton. A silence engulfed the room, not uncomfortably so, and both players were lost in their thoughts – not allowing their mind a break from the matters at hand. Seguin heard a shuffle from the other side of the room, and the lights were clicked off. "Night Marchy." He called out in a hoarse breath. "Night bud." He heard back, or thought he heard – he was back to letting his mind wander. He tossed and turned, trying to get comfortable. In what seemed like five minutes, he was abruptly awakened by the ringing of his alarm. _Shit. _He thought to himself. _It's morning already? _He swung his legs over the side of the bed and buried his face in his palms. He tried to wipe the sleep from his eyes and hobbled to the bathroom, his roommate beginning to stir. "Time?" he heard his friend call out in quiet words. "Mhm." Seguin mumbled sleepily. He turned the silver nobs of the sink and cupped his hands full of cool water. He splashed the liquid onto his face, hoping to remove all the signs of sleeplessness from his face. Both players maneuvered around each other effortlessly, playing the tried and true morning routine they'd become accustomed to. Within a couple of minutes, both were ready to head to the rink for morning skate. Marchand gave Seguin an encouraging pat on the back as he followed behind him, shutting the hotel door. "You've made it." He said.

"_You've made it." _ The words rang in his ears, replaying like a broken record that he didn't want to stop. _I'm here. _He thought to himself, staring at his reflection in the mirror. _I'm in Vancouver... in Vancouver for Game 7 of the Stanley Cup Finals. I might touch the Stanley Cup. I might fucking win this thing. I have to. I have to do this._ A swift hand caught the back of his head, breaking his train of thought. "Let's get going." The tall Czech said to him, a grin dancing on his lips - one that was only there to mask the nerves. Upon closer inspection, Seguin noticed the bags under his eyes – under everyone's eyes. _Man, did anyone get any sleep last night? _He thought.

His skates touched the smooth ice, greeting the frozen surface abrasively – his legs propelling him around the rink with all of his strength. He felt strong. He felt ready. Practice had ended and he made his way back to the locker room. _We're going to win._ He'd seen it in his team mates' eyes. They believed. Not an inch of him wasn't covered in moist sweat as he made his way to the shower. Streams of hot water drenched his body as he lathered up soap in his hands and removed the remnants of hard work. The rest of the afternoon seemed to pass like an out of body experience – each player appealing to their rituals encompassed by their apprehensions of the night ahead.

'**The following is a presentation of the National Hockey League.'** The male voice announced from the TV.

"Ooh gather around everyone!" the girl squeaked, bouncing on the bed, allowing the lose ringlets in her hair to bounce happily with her. She looked around the empty hotel room, a small laugh escaping her lips. She clutched the pillow to her chest, nervously anticipating the puck to drop. Her eyes grew wide during the anthem, taking in the special moment. She noted the players shifting from side to side, like masses of energy just waiting to be unleashed. She wondered if they could even hear the words, or if they were present on their own planet – waiting to reveal every part of them to the thousands of viewers. The camera panned across the audience showing waves of blue and green rocking softly to the lone voice singing within the arena. She closed her eyes and imagined herself clad in a uniform on the ice at the moment. She opened her eyes when the singing stopped, and after a flash of movement, the small rubber object that would change her night was on the screen being devoured by two large men who wanted it _very badly._

'**Rogers Arena is overflowing with support for their team right now.' The male announcer noted.**

'**It sure is, and with good reason. Vancouver leads Boston, 2-1 and when we return, Vancouver will have go on the power play.' The other responded just as the screen cut to a commercial.**

The brunette bit her lower lip nervously. She buried her head in the pillow, wanting to hide from the television. _"_C'mon babies!" she said in a muffled voice, her head still snuffed by her pillow. She looked at her television just as the face-off began in Boston's zone. "Ahh!" she called out in agony as the Canucks gained possession of the puck. She stuffed her face back into the pillow not wanting to watch the play unravel.

"**What a save by Thomas!"** the male announcer called out excitedly. Emily's face shot up, her frown replaced by a proud grin as she watched the replay. She winced as they prepared for another face-off within the Bruin's zone. She lay down dramatically onto her back, placing the back of her hand to her forehead in distress.

'**The Bruins win the face-off. Marchand gains possession of the puck. Pass to Ryder. Ryder to Seguin. Seguin with the breakaway chance. Bieksa looking to deny him. Seguin dekes him, shoots the puck – SCORES. And Boston ties it up late here in third with a shorthanded goal!"**

Emily's jaw drops as she registers what just happened. The pillow is released from her grasp and thrown into the air with excitement.

'**Bruins only have 14 seconds left to kill in the Lucic penalty. 3 minutes left in third. Well folks, it looks like we have a hockey game.'**

"Sure does!" the girl exclaimed to no one, her hands gripping at the sheets, waiting for Boston to regain even strength. She tucked a lock of her golden brown hair behind her ear, and leaned into the television closely – her green eyes flashing with anticipation.

"**And Burrows with a wrister! Save by Thomas. Henrik with the rebound, shoots the puck and a glove save by Thomas! That just about does it for the Lucic penalty. Face-off in Boston's zone. Kesler greets Chara for the face-off. Chara gains possession of the puck. Passes to Bergeron. Broken up by Lappiere. Steal by Ryder who enters Vancouver zone. Releases a rocket from the point and denied by Luongo. Rebound taken by Torres who sends it to Kesler. Pass is broken up by Chara who winds a shot off at Luongo. Save made by Luongo, rebound – SCORE! Patrice Bergeron off the rebound gives Boston a one goal lead with less than a minute remaining in Game 7 of the Stanley cup finals."**

"Eeeep!" she cheers, shamelessly clapping her hands and flailing wildly. "They did it! They really did it!" The camera pans to Horton and Savard clearly trying to hide their excitement. They knew they'd won. Emily watches as the clock winds down to zero – the Canucks firing shots at Timmy only to be denied by his aggressive goaltending. She brings her hand to her lips, the fingertips resting there, trying to hold back her emotions as she watches the Bruins celebrate.

'**Ladies and gentlemen, your 2011 Stanley Cup Champions – The Boston Bruins!'**


	2. Wicked

He awoke for a moment, turning to his side, feeling a slight resistance as his clothes clung to his back because of a sticky substance. Without opening his eyes to acknowledge the day, a smile formed on his lips, knowing that the sticky substance was a direct result of the champagne that had been dumped by the gallon over him and his team mates. He chuckled to himself softly, not knowing how on Earth he made his way back to the hotel room after last night. Content, he placed his hands behind his head, and opened his eyes to look up at the ceiling. His hands were met with a variety of colored confetti that had emigrated to his hair. He should have felt hung-over. He should have felt like re-gifting his insides to the world around him, but there was no taking away victory – a victory he'd waited his entire life for. It was time to go back to Boston, to be with the people that believed in him. He and his team mates wouldn't be very welcome in Vancouver anyway. After the team chipped in to cover any fines inflicted from the massive celebration the night before, the boys were on an early flight back to Beantown. The next couple of days felt like a dream. Tyler would find moments alone to appreciate the value of this victory. Tears would form in his eyes as he found himself at a loss for words. There was one thing for certain; Tyler Seguin wanted to feel this way again and again.

"What's up with you?" a female voice asked with attitude, interrupting his thoughts. Seguin grinned at his sibling and grabbed at her waist, catching her by surprise.

"What's up with your face?" he retorted, tickling his kid sister.

"Stop it Ty!" she pleaded among her fits of giggles. "Seriously, I'm way too old for this shit, stop!" she demanded her face turning a bright red from laughter.

"Watch your mouth little girl." He scolded her, ceasing to tickle her in the process. She looked at him with innocent eyes and smiled.

"Well if you'd stop blanking. Cass, Mom, and I are going to lunch. I guess you're invited." She teased flashing a million dollar smile that all the Seguin siblings seemed to inherit.

They'd chosen a small mom-and-pops joint on the outskirts of town. It would be difficult to go unrecognized anywhere at this point, but this was the best they'd be able to do. He sat outside the café, waiting for the food as his mom and sisters checked out the local shops. His interest was piqued when a tall brunette rounded the corner. She wore white pants that hugged her slim, long legs. Her hips swayed delicately as she walked, naturally, in small heels. He enjoyed the pretty sight and found himself admiring her for sometime – taking in her green top that bared elegant shoulders and thin arms. Just as she neared a group of young boys, close in his age, one of the boys chirped at her.

"I love it when girls wear white, can normally see their panties!"

The girl's cheeked flush, a rose tint covering her high cheekbones. She stopped in her tracks, her mouth hung slightly agape, appalled by the boy's comment. As if receiving a revelation, her sweet face transformed, a small smirk dancing on her lips. She turned to face the gentleman who had heckled her and began clapping – giving him a round of applause. Tyler found a smile of his own come to his lips at the girl's odd gesture. Amused, he continued to stare as the girl quickly turned on her heel – resuming her initial route. She'd only taken a couple steps before her hand landed swiftly on her rear producing a loud smacking noise. It was clearly out of character, and only Tyler could see the laughter escape her round lips as she continued to walk away without looking back. He began to chuckle, noticing the shocked looks from the boys she'd left to admire her as she sashayed her hips and walked away. Tyler found himself become incredibly happy as the girl neared his direction. He cupped his chin in hand, noticing her face become clearer as she came closer. A plump set of bee-stung lips that reminded him of a rosebud sat below a perfectly thinned nose that was sprinkled with a light coating of freckles that reminded him of cinnamon sugar. Her eyes were an unusually deep shade of green and slightly feline, but held a doe-like, wide-eyed innocence. Her brown hair reminded him of spun gold that had been dipped in milk chocolate. It fell in loose ringlets down her back and contrasted with her fair skin. Just as Tyler had been studying her, her green eyed gaze found his. That same rosy tint greeted her cheeks as she looked away quickly. His amused smile grew larger, his gaze still on the quirky beauty. She took a seat a couple tables away and buried her face in her hands.

"What was I thinking?" Emily muttered to herself. She found herself enjoying a small bout of laughter. Just as she pulled out her phone, hoping to call her mom to tell her of recent events, the boy she'd seen earlier pulled out a seat at her table. She was so lost in embarrassment; she hadn't even seen him come over and was caught off guard. She glanced up towards his face and instantly recognized him. She didn't want to let on that she knew him and flashed a friendly grin his way. He returned her grin with a dazzling smile of his own. 'Impressive.' Emily thought, feeling her stomach drop. She could feel the heat rising to her cheeks, anticipating another blush.

"Hi." She managed to squeak. His brown eyes lit up and his smile grew bigger, something she did not think was possible.

"Hi." He replied in a deliberately similar voice, humoring her. He rested his elbow on the table and placed his chin in his palm, tilting his head, amused. "What's your name?" he asked, his amused grin, now seemed mischievous and boyish.

"Emily." She replied, finding her composure. She extended her hand out to introduce herself doing her best to refrain from shaking. "Pleased to meet you." She found herself looking up at those brown eyes that looked as if they expected her to meet his gaze. He raised an eyebrow curiously and accepted her hand, taking it in his and giving it a firm shake.

"Tyler." He said, gripping her tiny hand in his for more seconds than necessary and flashing a wicked grin. Emily placed her free hand to her cheeks in hopes that it would cool them before she blushed.

"Where you from Emily?" he asked, her stomach doing more flips at the sound of her name from his lips. "No Boston accent, not that you've said very much." He added with a playful wink.

"Colorado." She responded, swallowing hard. She bit her lower lip nervously and caught his brown eyes wandering down to her mouth.

"So do I have to ask, or will you tell me more than that?" he laughed his face leaning in closer towards her as if she was the most interesting thing he's ever encountered. Emily could feel increasingly heated and exhaled slowly in hopes of calming her blush. She smiled slowly, prepared to answer him.

"I travel a lot for my job." She began, making eye contact with the boy and ensuring she kept it. "I model out of New York." She added softly, not wanting to sound as if she was bragging. "I grew up in Colorado, but the opportunities were in New York." He licked his lips and nodded understandingly, encouraging her to go on. "I came to Boston for a photo shoot. I leave in 4 days." She finished, his brown eyes losing their spark and his perma-grin falling slightly.

"Hmm." He said scratching his chin. "That's no good." He added. She searched his face, trying to read his reaction. "I guess we only have 4 days then." He informed her, his eyes studying her as the boyish grin came back to his lips. She tilted her head and he caught on to her confusion.

"Well, I'd have preferred at least a week to get to know you, but I guess 4 days will have to do." He explained. Her blush could not be stopped this time, her cheeks flushing as she looked away from the devastatingly handsome boy. His boyish grin became a knowing grin, a grin that knew he had made her blush and took pride in this. "Hey Em." He started.

"Yes?" she replied.

"You think you could take more jobs in Boston?"


End file.
